


Glad to be back

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas returns home after border patrol.<br/>For the person on tumblr who requested Thrandolas + Daddy Kink</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad to be back

**Author's Note:**

> **[Disclaimer]** \- The Elves are (unfortunately) not mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Estate – I just like to explore their lives a little further. No money is made from this story.

**Glad to be back  
**

*****

 

“Nay, Legolas, that is not what I wish to hear,” admonishes Thranduil, and a sly grin crosses Legolas’ fair features. Of course he does it on purpose, as he has so often done in the past, and the grip his father has in his hair intensifies. Endure a bit longer Legolas says to himself, just a bit longer he has to remain silent and the king will loose his temper.

“Now, have you grown mute during your absence, my son?” he chides, yanking Legolas’ head backwards.

“No, _Ada_ ,” he whispers, the sly smirk still tugging at his already bruised lips, “I have not.”

“A pity – almost,” Thranduil coos, long and jewel-adorned finger tracing along his son’s jaw-bone until Legolas shivers beneath his touch.

“Why?” he inquires, voice trembling.

One eyebrow delicately raised he asks, “All too well you should know what punishment is due for disobeying your father, your king - or have you forgotten already?”

“I thought,” stammers Legolas, a mixture of shame, embarrassment and frantic excitement rushing through him, and distinctly too tight his breeches become upon the notion, “nevermind.”

Of course he has not forgotten, long after his pleasure has subsided tantalizingly the pain lingered upon his skin.

“Have you, my son?” Again the grip becomes more intense and visibly Legolas flinches.

“Ada!” he cries out at last, “let go of me,” upon which Thranduil only laughs.

“Ada, saes! Nay!” _(Dad, please)_

“Better.” The jeweled finger resumes its journey, trailing further down over Legolas’ throat, a bit lower where the tunic gives way to skin, “as for the rest – what is it you desire? Certainly you have needs after having been in the forest for so long; you haven’t touched yourself without your father’s permission, now have you?”

“Never would I even dare to think about it.”

“Good boy,” appraises Thranduil upon such words of obedience, after all the journey has been a long one indeed with many a lonely night, “so what is it that you desire?”

“Your cock; if you would allow it, father.”

Without speaking further, Legolas sinks onto his knees with his hands lying flat against Thranduil’s thighs. The king is already hard beneath the breeches he wears, that much is evident from his position as his gaze falls onto his crotch briefly before he gazes upwards, looking at him from under long black lashes. “May I?” he asks with as much innocence as he can muster, feigning the guiltless child he wasn’t anymore. Too long do they indulge into sin incarnated already behind closed doors. “Would you allow me that I pleasure you with my mouth, as redemption for my long absence? Surely you must have missed your son’s company.”

“Every father misses his son when he is absent,” explains Thranduil with genuine affection, “and yes, you may – but remember: no hands.”

Legolas inclines his head and gives his father his most radiant smile, cheeks already tainted scarlet with a faint blush. “Thank you, Ada.”

Quickly he undoes the lacings of this father’s breeches then, cursing in silence upon the intricate knots his father has used to tie them; certainly on purpose, of that Legolas is sure.

“Son,” above him Thranduil mutters, and for seconds Legolas stops what he is doing to revel in the otherworldly beauty his father represents, “we do not have time forever.”

“Of course not father,” he says, hardly apologetic and indeed he is surprised that not another scolding follows.

Well, the reason why not is obvious.

Hard and hot and wet, waiting to be devoured by his mouth, Thranduil's cock already stands. Drool gathers upon his lips as his gaze shifts constantly between his father’s eyes and cock, caught in strange fascination.

“Now make haste, ion nín,” urges Thranduil and not twice Legolas must be told.

With such hunger he wraps his lips around his father’s cock, licking along the tip, along the prominent vein until the first moan of appreciation spills from the king’s lips. A sound he is all too familiar with, a sound that fuels his own desire, all the more, when the jeweled fingers gather themselves in his silken strands, requesting him to go deeper, and deeper still.

And that he does; with half-lidded eyes he lets his mouth sink further down, tongue lying flat against the back of his father’s cock, sucking, licking, humming.

He doesn’t care that soon drool and pre-cum trickles down his chin, that the sounds he makes are barely suited for royalty but for shabby taverns and whorehouses – but then: aren’t they at the same time strangely befitting?

Isn’t he his father’s whore? Legolas thinks when he is held down by force until his nose brushes against the velvet skin of the king’s pelvis, until he gags and coughs.

Isn’t that what he has become over all the years? Proudly so?

Isn’t it the fact that it is his father’s cock fucking him that sends him regularly over the edge?

His eyes fall shut as he floats and soars, and everything around him drowns out by his father’s gaps and cries of pleasure, the sounds that matter all to him. Greedily he sucks, bobbing his head up and down as much as the hand at the back of his head allows it, hands idly lying against Thranduil’s quivering thighs.

He is close, so very close, Legolas notices, and a faint smile plays at his lips, mouth still full of cock.

“By all the gods, son” Thranduil cries out, head thrown back in pleasure, the rest of what he wished to say is swallowed by a frantic cry, and warm and salty seed spurts down his throat. The reward for what he does, the praise he so much cherishes. Obediently he keeps his lips sealed until his father’s length softens in his mouth, until the hand is withdrawn; the sign of permission for him to move.

With the back of his hand he wipes away the remains of cum and saliva, giving his father the most radiant smile he can muster in his wrecked state. “Thank you, ada,” Legolas pants, voice horse and ragged, trying to catch his breath which was not all too easy.

“Hannon le, ion nín. Thank you for everything, my son,” responds Thranduil’s in such an affectionate manner that Legolas nearly melts upon the words and with an equal smile, he bends down to seal his son’s lips in a lazy kiss.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, either here or on tumblr, would be totally lovely :)


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